


An Uneven Trade

by tsukinofaerii



Series: Digital Wonderland [1]
Category: Marvel 616, Supernatural
Genre: Dark, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Civil War, Tony would give anything to right what went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Uneven Trade

Oklahoma was dry and desolate, but that might have been just the little hole in the wall town in which Tony found himself. He felt twitchy, naked without buildings or any of his tech around him. Not having the data feeds and programs from Extremis running made it worse—he'd come to rely on those as a lifeline to his responsibilities. Even _SR-omega.exe_ was on standby, and that had been physically painful to do. Normally he'd only see a place like this in a museum exhibit as some photographer's attempt to capture rural America. His mother would have fainted at the health code violations at the only restaurant in the place.

Tony wasn't in Oklahoma for the food though. He could barely believe what he _was_ there for, but he'd seen the evidence with his own two eyes. Everything else had failed.

The crossroads were somehow a lot bleaker than the town they were down the road from. The mid-summer heat made him sweat in his black Armani suit, but when he stepped into the center a chill went down his back. It was like what he'd always thought having someone walk on your grave was supposed to feel like.

Maybe because that's practically what he was doing.

He put down his briefcase, careful not to jostle it, and looked around to mark the exact center. The roads were a perfect cross, the dimensions cut as exactly as if they had been mapped out to the inch. Someone had known exactly what they were doing when they laid it down. With a sigh, he pulled out a trowel from his briefcase. It was so new that it still had the pricing sticker—garden tools were not something he usually had much need for. Tense expectation prickled down his back as he started to dig.

The layer of dull tan gravel was thin and the dirt was loose, almost sandy, and ridiculously easy to move. Still, he took care shifting it, leaving a neat pile of dirt off to the side. No matter how far he dug, there wasn't a sign of life in the dirt. Nothing moved in the bushes, and the only sound was the wind. Animals had enough sense to avoid the place.

About six inches down the trowel scraped against an old cigar box, exactly where he'd been told it would be. He brushed the dirt away from the faded black surface and pulled it out, flipping open the lid.

Inside was a picture and some other rubbish, things he assumed were supposed to make this whole thing work. Sharp, ragged edges showed where the picture had been cut from some sort of ID. It was a man probably younger than Tony. Dark hair, green eyes, with the same sort of devil-may-care grin he'd used to see in the mirror ten years ago. Where ever it had come from, the picture hadn't had time to age.

Relief that someone else had done this same thing recently was a horrible feeling. He shouldn't be glad that another man had gotten as desperate as he had. Tony shook it off and pocketed the picture. In its place he put one of his own, clipped from Time Magazine. He'd tried to find an actual photo, but he didn't have any personal ones he was willing to give up other than a few of Iron Man, and Iron Man wasn't going to have anything to do with this if he could help it. Then he buried the box, and tried not to think about what he was doing.

It was the only way.

When the last of the dirt had been smoothed over again, a strong breeze kicked up out of nowhere. It flung his somber silk tie over his shoulder, then died as quickly as it came. The air stank of dirt and cattle, but under the reek carried the unmistakable tinge of sulfur. Behind him, gravel crunched and shifted.

Tony whirled.

A petite, dark-haired woman smiled at him from the roadside. "Anthony Edward Stark, my, my, my. Like father like son." She was dressed all wrong for such a small town, in what Tony recognized as a red Van Dyne evening gown, and her smile was as inviting as any he'd seen over drinks back in New York. "So, what brings you here, sweetheart?" She took a slow step forward, hips rolling. "As if I didn't already know."

Tony straightened and looked her in the eye, putting his hands casually in the pockets of his slacks. He didn't bother to hide his reaction to her body when her eyes slid down him pointedly. She'd probably chosen it for exactly that reason. "My father didn't deal with demons."

The woman's laugh carried over the crossroads, high and sweet. For just a moment her eyes rolled, turning solid crimson. Then they were human again, dark and inviting. "I hear that a lot. How's the tumor, Tony? It come back yet?"

When he'd been nine, his parents had been told he'd had a brain tumor. Inoperable, inevitably deadly, especially in a child. He still remembered his mother's face when they'd found out it had been a false alarm, shock and relief making her pale as she clutched her rosary. Anyone could have found it out; it had been big news at the time. "That was a misdiagnosis."

An amused smile curved her lips. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetie."

He caught himself grinding his teeth and forced his jaw to loosen. Too little sleep, too much stress, none of the support the SR program gave. It was wearing him down, making it harder to control himself. He couldn't afford that. "I'm not here to banter. I'm here about Steve Rogers."

"Hmm, yes, America's favorite boy scout. Is he that good a lay? I've heard rumors, but you know how it is. The fish always gets bigger every time the story's told." The demon stepped forward, her heels crunching the gravel until she was nose to collarbone with him. There was an amused tilt to her smile, as if she knew how hard it was for him not to step back. "You know the usual deal, I assume? Ten years and your battered little soul."

She licked her lips slowly, resting her hands against his chest as she rose up on her toes. "What I'm wondering is why you think we'd be interested in bringing back a force of good like him for such a paltry price, given by someone known for wiggling out of deals." She tsked lightly, voice low and saccharine. "Your soul's not worth much these days, Tony."

Stark Enterprise's Board of Directors had said something similar a couple of weeks ago, but he was almost positive none of them were demons. Probably.

Or maybe he should put some holy water in the coffee maker. Did holy water work mixed with sugar and cream? Salt in the doorways would be too obvious, but he could work some devil's traps onto the ceiling. "I've got something better than that."

"Oh?" Her voice never rose from a seductive slink. He could almost admire her moves, if he hadn't used them himself. "We're in the soul business, not vacuum sales."

Tony gave her his most charming smile and tipped his head so that his lips brushed her ear. "Bullshit." She huffed out a sigh and dropped back on her heels, crossing her arms sulkily. That worked—he could deal with that. He stepped back, circling her, forcing her to turn in order to keep him in sight. Intimidation tactics probably didn't work on the minions of Hell, but it was worth a shot. "I can read, you know. You're in the soul business like I'm in stocks. It passes the time, turns a profit, but you've got bigger plans. And with strange occurrences, plagues and disasters all over the news, I can guess that whatever you're planning is soon. I can help."

The wind kicked up again as she laughed, almost giggled, but there was a nervous edge to it. She wasn't so sure anymore. "Oh, don't give me that. You're as much a hero as Captain America."

"I'm also one of the richest men in the world, fourth smartest and the Director of SHIELD." Tony stepped back and spread his arms, letting her see him entirely, from his freshly-trimmed goatee down to the shine on his shoes. He hoped she'd see what he wanted: no armor, no weapon, no computers. She didn't need to know Extremis could access almost any satellite in orbit now. "And I'm desperate. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't been willing to make the deal, and you know that."

Red covered her eyes, like a nervous twitch. "Hm, so what are you offering? Iron Man's services in the apocalypse? We have better soldiers than _you_."

"Three wishes."

Thin, perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. "Pardon?"

Tony grinned. Everything was falling into place; she was curious. It felt good, like a victory, even though no one sane would call making this deal any sort of victory. He'd handle that later. "Your people get three wishes from me in the next ten years, I get Steve back. With my resources, that's got to be worth more than a soul."

"You expect us to buy that?" One hip cocked as the demon shifted her weight, arms still crossed and expression flat. Maybe he didn't have her hooked just yet. "We know you, Tony Stark. You're as devious as any of us. If we bring back Captain America, you'll take him and walk and _I'll_ be left holding the bag." Long, dark curls tumbled into her eyes as she shook her head, making her look soft and innocent. He wondered if that was a trick of the demon or something from the girl it inhabited. "You're a business man; you know these things. There has to be some collateral."

Damn. He'd been hoping she wouldn't catch that. "That's where my soul comes in. If I don't pay up inside ten years, you collect. What have you got to lose?"

She actually looked interested. "A year."

"What?" That was too little time—there was too much happening. Just his will would take a year to set up. "Ten years is the usual."

"Big plans, baby cakes. We're not interested in long-term... investments." Her tongue rolled over the final word, making it obscene. "That's what I gave the last resurrection."

"Five."

"You're worse than the Winchester boys. Eighteen months."

"One a year for three years." Sweat dripped down his back, making his silk shirt stick to his skin. If he'd thought about the weather, he would have worn cotton, but then the demon would have the edge on formal wear intimidation tactics. "No grace period and immediate collection on a missed payment.

Glossed lips pursed in a thoughtful pout as she studied him. "And you'll give us anything?"

That had to be nipped. Tony shook his head, just once, and popped open his briefcase. In addition to the absolute basics for survival in Nowhere, Oklahoma, was a portable, wireless printer. It was already spitting out two copies of the deal that he'd sent it through the Extremis link. "Do I look stupid? I reserve the right to refuse, but what will that get me? I don't exactly want to end up in Hell."

"A written contract?" She looked amused again, but didn't object to the constraint on the deal. "That's so modern of you. We usually do verbal agreements."

"Like you said. I'm a businessman." He offered her one of the copies and a pen. Legalese made what could have been a single page into four, but Tony wasn't going to leave any loop-holes. Demons were infamous for those. For that matter, so was he.

"A point we'd do well to remember." She accepted the papers, red eyes skimming down them. "All right, Tony, you have a deal. Three years and three wishes or your soul, in exchange for the return of Captain America to life." Faintly blushed cheeks twitched as if she were holding back a smile.

For a moment, Tony nearly panicked. Had he missed anything? "As he was and in good health."

The smirk was unmistakable now. "Picky, picky." The demon snapped up the pen and, using the briefcase for a table, signed her name, _Aliel_, in flowing script to both copies.

Tony did the same, and felt a hope he hadn't experienced in six months. He'd done it. He'd bought himself time—bought _Cap_ time. So there was almost a zero probability that the demon would come up with three requests he could fulfill in good conscience, and he might as well have sold his soul outright. As the lady had said, his soul wasn't exactly worth much anyway. "What now?"

"Now we seal the deal." Aliel dropped the pen and stepped forward, crushing it under her shoe. "One little kiss, and your precious boy-toy comes back."

One kiss. He could do that. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd kissed demons before. Sunset Bain probably qualified. "One kiss."

Gloss shined on her lips as she smiled, then surged up to slam her lips against his. Tony dropped his briefcase and staggered back a half-step under the unexpected assault, but he didn't give way and he didn't kiss back. She could have whatever she needed to bring Steve back. That didn't mean he had to help her.

Aliel hesitated, lips going soft against his. She pulled away, brows pulled together in a dark frown, then kissed him again. Whatever she was expecting must not have happened, because the next time she stepped back there was an ugly scowl on her pretty face.

"The contract is void. No deal."

"What?" For a second, Tony thought his heart might stop. Again. "What do you mean, void? You signed the damn thing!"

"I can't do it!" she snarled. "I don't know why. Something's interfering." Her chest heaved, showing her breasts to their best advantage under the thin cloth of the evening gown. "Is there anything else you'd deal with us for? Love is always a big one."

Tony shook his head. "Just him."

"Fine. Come back when you've got a deal for me, Stark." The wind picked up again, blowing dirt everywhere. He covered his eyes and tried not to breathe. When the dust storm died, the contracts lay in a shredded pile of white paper at his feet, half-buried in debris.

The demon had gone, and she'd taken his last chance of saving Steve with her.


End file.
